


Tamriel Days

by lazbobthing



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazbobthing/pseuds/lazbobthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The company of La'Zarus, or Lazarus, the Khajiit Dragonborn. Otherwise known as the very exasperated dragon born and his group of idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few silly dribbles, featuring my OC as Dragonborn. I have a lot of head canons about khajiit and none of this is to be taken seriously.

It seemed, no matter where he turned these days, a new faction, a new adventure, or a new land was waiting, for him to explore.

Quite frankly, it left the Khajiit overwhelmed, at times.

He currently was camped at Halted Stream camp, after he and his comrades emptied it of bandits for the umpteenth time. Serana sat beneath the small tent-like building, seeking refuge from the sun, while J’zargo and Kh’arjo were close at hand, both often found by Lazarus’ side. Khajiit were rare, in Skyrim, so they stuck together.

Mjioll was sparring with Uthgerd, while Vorstag and Stenvar egged them on raucously, the two nords having found the bandit’s stash of mead. Teldryn was on watch with Frea, the two Solstheim natives preferred to stick together, unfamiliar with Skyrim as they were.

Celann was with the two Dawnguard War dogs, the two huskies cuddled up to the Breton affectionately.

Lazarus watched over his troop of friends, his troop of seasoned and fierce warriors with a slight quirk of his lips, and fondness in his vividly green slitted eyes.  
"Septim for your thoughts, La’Zarus?" The rough, purring rumble of one of his fellow Khajiit shook the Dragonborn from his thoughts, and he chuckled, glancing at the owner of the voice.

"Merely reminiscing, and observing, my friend." He answered, giving Kh’arjo an odd little smile. The Siberian tiger Khajiit raised an eyebrow back at him. Next to him, J’zargo feasted on a leg of goat, the snow leopard Khajiit being the youngest of the three.

"This one wonders what it is, that grasps you so." Kh’arjo hummed innocently, as he drew a whetstone, and ran it long the length of his dragonbone sword. Lazarus snorted, half tempted to smack the other with his tall.

"Nothing perverse, which I know disappoints you so. I’m merely reflecting on our merry band, and our many, many exploits." He sniffed, giving the White Tiger Khajiit an unamused look.

"Ah, this one understands," Kh’arjo chuckled, shifting in his seat, and leaning forward, with a cheshire smile. "We are strong, capable, and fierce. What more could you ask?"

"Well, for J’zargo to practice his skill in restoration more often, lest he accidentally turn one of us blue again." He answered, which made J’zargo start, with a sheepish expression.

"This one finds it boring!" The youngest Khajiit complained, "It is not this one’s fault that Stenvar does not know how to duck!"

"Don’t make me come over there!" Stenvar threatened, rosy cheeked with drink.

"Stenvar." Lazarus admonished, with a sharp look. Stenvar grumbled, and returned to drinking, Vorstag drawing him back into a terribly off key version of ‘The Dragonborn comes’.

"We need a healer, J’zargo, and you’re far better with Restoration magic then I." Lazarus murmured, turning back to the younger Khajiit. J’zargo sighed, visibly disgrunted, and nodded.

"Thank you." The Dragonborn inclined his head, with a smile, standing up and wandering over to Serana. The vampire greeted him with a small smile, which he returned, as he sat next to her.

"How are you?" Lazarus asked, after a moment, and she sighed, gaze dropping to her lap.

"Conflicted." The vampire answered softly, and he hummed, a thoughtful yet understanding sound.

"He has to die, Serana. You know that. I know that. He won’t stop until he blacks out the sun." He told her gently, which earned him a harsh look.

"Don’t you think I know that? I told you, I’m trying to come to terms with it. That doesn’t mean it is not going to happen." She snapped, and he held up his hands, placating her.

"We’ll head to the cave I saw in the Scrolls after we dispatch the dragon at Skyborn Altar, alright?" He murmured, and she nodded, sighing.

He returned to his seat, and stared up at the stars, as his comrades reveled and conversed around him.

Just another night in Tamriel.


	2. Unrelated Interlude: Where Brynjolf asks questions and La'Zarus splutters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khajit Headcanons, Curious Brynjolk, and a flustered Dragonborn.

“Oy, Lazarus,” Rune speaks up one rare evening, where most of the guild is crowded together at the tables for dinner.

The newly appointed Guildmaster and only Khajit member of the guild looks up, ears perking at the mention of his name.  
“Yes?” He answers in the smoldering timbre that is characteristic of his species, even though Lazarus himself speaks with proper syntax and grammar.

“Your…ah, fur pattern, it’s different than most of the Khajits I’ve seen before. Why’s that?”  
Curious eyes now turn to Lazarus, who wears a bemused smile.

“Ahh, I thought one of you would eventually say something, seeing as you are all more observant then most who wander Skyrim.” The Khajit chuckles, rubbing his chin with one hand.

“My clan is of the Serval. Back home, there are many, many clans, each with their own fur patterns and features. It’s common for clans to interbreed, resulting in many of what you see in the caravans. But there are some who only breed with others of their Clan, and my parents were both pure blooded Servals.” Lazarus explained amiably, smirking a little at his avid audience.  
“That is why I have larger ears, a shorter height, and semi-slender build.”

“Ah, that explains why I’m able to lift ye so easily.” Brynolf chuckles deeply, and Lazarus’ ears flatten against his head, the Khajit blushing brightly beneath his fur.

“Shut up.”


	3. An odd reunion, and memories of a life once lived.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by RP, on tumblr, with my bae.

"I still think at least one of us should come with you." Serana told the Khajiit Drsgonborn sharply, and Lazarus let out a long suffering groan.

"Seraaaaannnnaaaa. I’ve told you, time and time again, when it comes to Dragon lairs, I go in alone. I don’t want any of you getting killed because I’m Dragonborn. Kh’arjo and Frea can tell you it’s impossible to make me change my mind." The serval Khajiit spoke slowly, as if talking to a child.

The vampire huffed, and stormed off, ending up near Frea and Mjioll. Lazarus rolled his eyes, and mounted Shadowmare.

"I’ll try to be back as soon as I can. If I don’t come back, you all know what to do." Lazarus announced, and his band of followers nodded, chorusing their understanding.  
With that said, the Khajiit turned Shadowmare round, and began up the mountain.

It took less than an hour to navigate his way up, and he dismounted Shadowmare at a safe yet manageable distance from the dragon lair. Taking a deep breath, Lazarus stood tall, and strode forward swiftly, coming into view of Skyborn Altar. He drew the enhanced dwarven crossbow from his back, knocking an exploding dwarven bolt with ease, and cast his gaze around. 

No sign of a Dragon. Puzzled, but not dropping his guard, he advanced, keeping his footsteps light, and his glances wary.

"So, you are the Dovahkiin." A deep, ancient yet melodious voice startled the Khajiit, and he whirled round, crossbow at the ready.

A tall, mysterious being stood not five paces away, with ebony black hair, smoldering slitted golden eyes, and pale, pale skin. He wore an odd, half mask, that looked to be made from bone, and covered an ample amount of the left side of his face. 

"Perhaps," Lazarus replied cautiously, narrowing evergreen hues at the man. "But who are you?"

The man chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Lazarus’ spine, and made his tall ears lay flat against his head.

"I am Ererahrik. The Dovah you seek." The stranger drawled, taking a predatory step forward.  
Lazarus stared blankly at him.

"…I was unaware dragons could take humanoid form." He said at last, stiffening as the man shaped dragon drew closer.

"Only a very, very old Dovah can change his shape. And I am very, very, very old. I have been waiting for you, Lazarus, to return to me." The old Dragon purred, advancing on the shorter male, who uttered a soft chirrup of panic when his back met hard stone.

"I don’t understand what’s happening. We’ve never met." Lazarus attempted, feeling a hot flush of unknown emotion pool in his stomach. Something seemed so achingly familiar about that voice, those eyes….

"Yes, we have. In another lifetime, so many eras ago. You weren’t as," Ererahrik paused, looking the Khajiit up and down, "Furry, then. But it is you. Those eyes, those features, it’s unmistakable. Don’t you recognize me, Laz?" 

Lazarus felt a sharp pang in his chest, staring up at the dragon. His voice, his tone, it verged on sounding…pleading. Desperate, almost.

And suddenly, everything clicked. Memories of another life flooded the Khajiit’s head, making him sway as he grew dizzy.

He blinked, and lifted evergreen eyes to the desperately hopeful face above.

“ Erik?"


	4. Chapter 4: Diplomatic Impossibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a mission to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy isn't as easy as planned, and Delphine is not a racist. [Tiny chapter]

“Delphine,” An exasperated Lazarus tried once again, gazing bemusedly at the pacing Blades member, “I cannot express within the boundaries of any language how much this is not going to work.” 

“Why not?” The quick to temper blonde snapped back, glaring at the serval Khajiit with a deadly gleam in her eyes.

“You realize that I am Khajiit, yes? You know, one of the Cat people as you Nords like to say? Most of my kind are not even allowed inside the main cities, what makes you think that they would allow me even inside the Thalmor Embassy?” He said in a deadpan, arching an eyebrow at her.

Delphine paused, a faint hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. “I…had not considered that.” She admitted, with a drawn out sigh, a hand rising to rub at her jaw. 

“As charming and new as a Nord not giving a damn for my species is, my species still is an issue for this plan of yours. I mean, if you could somehow make me out to be a noble of Elswyr, maybe, or a rich merchant, it might work,” He attempted with a placating manner, raising his shoulders in a shrug. 

He could see the woman mulling the idea over, and took the opportunity to have a seat, ears flat to his head as he watched her. "It's going to take more time to set up, if we do that." She told him slowly, with a frown. 

"Details," Dismissed the Khajiit, with a lazy wave.   
Delphine glared at him.


End file.
